


Merry Christmas, you spoon

by knlalla



Series: Life and Death [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Amnesia, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Supernatural Elements, death!dan, life!phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: Dan is Death, Phil is Life, and Christmas is coming up - their first Christmas together - though Dan's worried: something feels a little...off. (Dan POV)





	Merry Christmas, you spoon

“Dan, Dan, wake up, wake up! Did you see, it's snowing outside!” I squint against the sudden brightness, groaning as I throw my arm across my face in an attempt to block out the pale blue light now streaming through the window.

 

“Jesus, close the curtain, it's not like you've never seen snow before. You lived through a  _ literal  _ Ice Age, you spork,” I peek out from under my arm at the figure framed by the icy sky - for all my complaining, I can't help the fondness that sneaks into my tone.

 

“Well, yeah,” he turns back to me, blue eyes and bright grin perfectly complementing the aesthetic outside. I only have a moment to prepare before he flops onto the bed beside me, propping his chin up on his elbows less than a foot from my face. “Just because I've seen something a thousand times doesn't make it any less beautiful,” his gaze softens, along with his smile, and he stares at me far longer than necessary. I duck into the pillow to hide the grin tugging at the corner of my cheek - I've never been good at taking compliments, even the subtle kind.

 

“Shut up,” I mumble into the pillow, and it comes out muffled. When Phil laughs in response, I throw said pillow; unfortunately, I have horrible aim, and it misses completely - we both wince as various objects from my desk are knocked to the floor. Phil rolls off the bed, still full of energy and excitement, to survey the damage. 

 

“No, I’ll get it, it was my fault,” I shove the blanket aside and join him - despite my protests, he’s already picking up the spilled pencil holder, and I bend down to grab the pens that have skittered halfway across the room.

 

When I’ve finally collected all the wayward writing utensils, I straighten and turn back toward the desk. In the span of a second, three things happen: I’m hit with an unexpected wave of warmth, Phil’s cheeks flush bright red, and he spins to focus  _ very intently _ on the other things he’s collected from the floor.

 

“Phil, were you  _ staring at my ass _ ?” I feign shock, my free hand covering my heart as I return the pens and pencils to their holder. He doesn’t look up, but the temperature warms the closer I get, and I can barely contain my laughter. As he pretends to rearrange the various objects, ruffled black hair falls across his face; I wish he’d turn toward me so I can run my fingers through it.

 

“Come on,” I smirk at him, grabbing his free hand instead and tugging him from his pointless organizing. “You know I’m teasing.” It’s odd to see him flustered, he’s usually so fearlessly  _ himself _ . I drag him toward the kitchen, simultaneously pleased and a little disappointed to see his blush has faded by the time I let go to focus on making a pot of coffee.

 

“Wait, no, we can’t have coffee!” He practically shouts it, and I startle and step back. At my confused glance, he clarifies. “Well, it’s snowing! The first snow of the year, we have to have hot chocolate!” His eyes have gone bright again, and I can see the slightest glow coming from his skin - he’s immensely excited, and I set my hands on his shoulders to stop him actually jumping up and down.

 

“Alright, alright, calm down, we’ll have some hot chocolate,” I smile to myself as I pull open the cupboard. “Okay,” I amend, talking to the half-empty cabinet, “it looks like we’re out,” when I turn back, he’s already at the door and tugging on some boots that look brand new.

 

“That’s fine, the shop’s only fifteen minutes away, and we can walk there in the snow!” I almost wonder if it’s worth grabbing a jacket, the way the heat is rolling off him in waves, but I join him at the door and settle on my usual winter coat to keep up appearances. 

 

“Alright, but you need a coat as well. And where’d those boots come from?” I pull on my own shoes, though they’re not quite the best for the snow; I don’t usually walk around outside for fun. I’m glancing up from my feet to find Phil donning a metallic puffy jacket, which - much like his boots - seems to have appeared from thin air.

 

“How has  _ this _ never come up?” I lean back on a heel, crossing my arms and pursing my lips.  _ Apparating, warmth and life, and now he can just conjure whatever he wants? _ I fight the envy that swirls in my stomach. 

 

“Well it’s never been  _ snowing _ before now,” he looks entirely unfazed by my annoyance, and I really can’t keep it up for long because he’s practically bouncing on his toes. Logic must take control for half a second as he eyes me up and down and decides I’m ready to go. “Come on!” I don’t fight his hand in mine, fingers twined, pulling me out the door. 

 

Once on the street, the icy wind barely makes it through the bubble of warmth Phil’s projecting - each step melts the dusting of snow under his feet, and the lazy flakes that drift from the sky disappear before they reach our heads. In spite of this, Phil’s grinning like a kid in a candy shop, wide-eyed and enraptured by the white-lined features of the city.

 

His excitement is contagious - just  _ seeing _ the look on his face is enough to make me smile. We continue in silence for a while, but it’s a content kind, not at all awkward. Every now and then, he stops to trail a hand through a particularly fluffy pile of snow, catching some on his fingers before it melts away - it soon becomes a game, whenever we drift close enough to a bench or fence where the snow has managed to cling.

 

“So,” it’s barely above a whisper, I’m afraid to break the comfortable trance, or pull Phil from his little world. But curiosity and the desire to hear his voice win out. “Christmas is at the end of the week. What do you, uh,  _ usually  _ do to celebrate? I mean, do you do anything special, or spend time with...” I trail off, unsure what exactly I’m asking - we don’t have any family, per se, but he’s such a kind person, surely he’s made some friends over the years? People he enjoys spending time with? A sliver of jealousy worms its way into my belly, though I try to ignore it.

 

“Hm? I suppose it depends,” his eyes don’t focus on anything, don’t land for more than a moment, as if the whole scene around us will disappear and he’ll never see it again.  _ I suppose the snow will, eventually. But it’ll come back. _ I’m still waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t, and I take a deep, steadying breath. I blow it out quickly, and it just barely reaches outside our warm bubble to cloud in the frosty air.

 

“Depends on  _ what? _ ” I know it’s not his fault, he’s just so  _ vague _ sometimes. I squeeze his hand for emphasis, and he turns to meet my gaze. I don’t think the smile has left his face, but it’s softer now, more appreciative than eager.

 

“Whether I have things to do,” his eyes drift away again, but his hand squeezes mine back, “who I’m with.” I can’t blame the warmth around us for the blush that climbs to my cheeks. “Sometimes,” I turn back to him, having dropped my gaze to the dusting of snow ahead of us on the pavement - I’m surprised he’s actually  _ volunteering  _ information. “I’ll stay in a forest, or a jungle, or somewhere tropical during the winter. It’s not really as nice as the snow, but…” he trails off, gesturing with his free hand at the air around us.

 

“You can’t turn it off,” I nod solemnly, glad that the streets are relatively empty - nobody seems to notice the rapidly melting snow, the way the flakes never reach the ground. We’re just about at the store, and Phil rushes ahead. I trail behind him and through the door with a chuckle, following his silvery jacket down the drink aisle.

 

\------------------------------

 

“Phil, do you really think  _ giant _ marshmallows are the best idea? My mugs aren’t  _ that _ big,” I frown at the enormous bag he’s set on the counter and the equally enormous marshmallows it contains, but he pouts and I can’t bring myself to rain on his parade. So we’re back outside in minutes, bag with the giant marshmallows and box of hot chocolate now swinging from Phil’s free hand. And I mean  _ swinging _ .

 

“If you keep doing that, it’s going to go flying down the street and some pigeon is going to get all your marshmallows,” I comment, glancing at him from the corner of my eye with a smirk. He giggles, then stills his arm at his side. The walk to the flat isn’t as leisurely; I can tell Phil’s anxious to get back, and he’s not nearly as captivated by the snow - what little there is left on this side of the street, after our journey here melted most of it.

 

I’ve been focused on our feet, watching the way the snowflakes disappear before they can settle on our shoes, when I realize we’ve almost arrived. I pull my hand from Phil’s, fishing in my pocket for the key, then unlock the door and hold it open for him. 

 

“What a gentleman!” Phil laughs, stepping inside, but I frown the moment he passes.  _ Is something wrong? _ Just before he walked through, he’d looked...confused, or concerned. Or perhaps some combination of both.  _ But then he looked just as cheery as ever? Maybe I’m overthinking it, or saw wrong… _

 

It’s about ten minutes later - hot chocolate in hand with a single giant marshmallow melting on top - that I ask, because it’s actually  _ eating me alive _ inside, despite the way I tried to forget it.

 

“Are you...or, I mean, is something wrong?” He’s been perfectly normal - well, as normal as Phil gets - since we got inside, but the picture of him looking so concerned has burrowed into my head. He looks up from his cross-legged position on the couch, lowering the mug from his mouth. Though I don’t want to distract from my question, I can’t help but lean toward him, wiping the remnants of hot chocolate from his lip.

 

“You tell me, is there?” he smirks, and his tongue picks up where my thumb had left off - it’s an entirely non-sexual act, but I have to drop my gaze anyway.  _ Focus _ . I shrug, taking a sip from my own mug to give myself time to collect my thoughts.

 

“It’s...probably nothing. You just looked a little concerned earlier, when we got back, but...I mean it was probably just something with shadows,” I look up to see him watching me intently, and - despite my words - my worry spikes alongside my heart rate. “ _ Is _ something wrong?” I set my hot chocolate aside, trying to convey that he’s got my full attention.

 

“No, Dan, I don’t think anything’s wrong,” he shakes his head with a smile, and I lean back against the armrest of the sofa.  _ Okay, he thinks I’m overreacting. _ I try to mirror his grin, his relaxed reaction, but something still doesn’t sit right -  _ had I really imagined that look?  _ But he’s still smiling, taking another long sip of his hot chocolate, so I reach for my mug to do the same; the sweetness is almost enough to mask the bitter feeling in my throat.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Things have been quiet the past few days, and Phil’s not mentioned anything from our odd conversation; in fact, he’s given me zero reason to be suspicious, to be concerned. Which is why it’s so frustrating that I  _ still am _ . I’m walking back to the flat in silence, just appreciating the way the snow crunches under my shoes - at the end of the day, I am still Death, and I still have duties to perform. Even on Christmas Eve. 

 

It was an older woman, surrounded by family, which made me feel a little better. I still can’t tap into that icy heartlessness I used to feel whenever I took a life before, but I’ve not frozen up again either. After a while, Phil stopped coming with me. I didn’t have to ask, but I appreciate it - it still sends a wave of guilt through me every time I have to take some of the magnificent people he’s created, but it was always twice as painful with him standing beside me.

 

The walk back is long enough that I’d normally take a cab, but I’m always  _ warm  _ lately - not a complaint, and I love being around Phil, but the cold is my element, my comfort zone. Sometimes I miss the biting chill, though it doesn’t exactly bite  _ me _ . So I’m walking home, letting the dormant wintry evening wrap me up with familiar contentment.

 

On my journey, I pass a small shop with Christmas trees stood in the display window - I haven’t ever been big on decorating (shocker), but this year I’m especially opposed: I don’t want to get a tree with Phil around, one that’s been chopped down, that’ll inevitably wither and die. I kill enough without having to add a perfectly good tree into the mix - Phil always insists it’s not a bad thing, what I do, but I avoid  _ actively  _ providing him reminders. So the flat is thoroughly undecorated, though I’m a little surprised Phil’s not asked to put up some fairy lights or something.

 

I exhale into the air, the cloud forming in front of my face dragging me back to the present. I realize I’ve sort of stopped, lingering by the wide store window. The place is closed, as it’s Christmas Eve and - I check my phone - just past eleven. I shove my hands into my pockets, then spin as casually as possible in a circle, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as the edges of an idea form.

 

When I’ve made a full 180, I start my trek again - in the exact opposite direction. Every shop will be closed by now, and I’m not exactly in the habit of breaking and entering - I may be the ‘bad guy’, but that’s no reason to  _ steal  _ from people. I retrace the imprints of my shoes in the snow until I reach the large iron archway of the park: it’s small, being sat in the middle of the city and all, but it should do.

 

\------------------------------------

 

By the time I make it back to the flat, I’m exhausted - dragging the stupid thing up four flights of stairs is enough to make me wish for Phil’s apparating abilities, not to mention the fifteen minutes I spent carrying the damned thing from the park to my building. I unlock the door to the flat and peek inside, letting out a heavy breath when I can’t see anything - it’s dark, not even a hint of a glow from where Phil must be sleeping in bed.

 

I prop the door open, then drag the potted tree into the lounge as quietly as I can manage. I mean, it’s not  _ technically _ stealing if I took it from a  _ public  _ park, right?  _ It’ll be worth it, to see his reaction. _ I grin, wondering how it took me til now to come up with the idea - a tree that  _ won’t  _ die, especially not with him around. 

 

I close and lock the door, then check the bed -  _ still asleep _ . My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can just make out the lump of a person.  _ Sleeping on my side, again? _ I grin because I honestly can’t even be mad about it - not with the way my heart flutters in my chest just thinking about laying down beside him, even if it’s on the wrong side and facing the window.  _ Fuck, how did I get this lucky? How did this even happen? _ I spend a few more moments lost in the daydream before I remember my task.

 

Well. Part of my task. I’d already gotten Phil a gift, so this is more of icing on the cake.  _ Oh, should I have made cookies or something? That’s a traditionally Christmassy thing to do... _ I’m suddenly checking my phone, wondering if I have the time and could manage to actually  _ bake _ cookies without waking him up. I frown - _ no, he practically has a sugar radar, and I’m shit in the kitchen, I can’t bake to save my life.  _ I chuckle quietly at the ironic thought before biting my lip to stop the sound - fortunately, Phil doesn’t seem to have woken, and I try once again to get focused.

 

The pine, with its little pot, only stands about up to my waist, but it was the least conspicuous one to haul across town and  _ certainly _ the easiest to drag up stairs. Besides, the point is to keep it  _ alive _ , so it doesn’t have to be all that tall yet - it’ll grow.  _ I hope he likes it. _

 

I lift the tree off the ground in an attempt to make less noise than sliding it across the floor, but I end up plunking it down in the corner of the lounge with a thump that has me staring intently at the bed - as I feared, Phil’s shifting, and I quickly position myself in front of the tree as he sits up.

 

“Dan? What’s going on?” His voice is low and gravelly, and he rubs at his eyes in an attempt to clear the sleep from them.

 

“I, uh, just got back,” I don’t dare check behind me, worried he’ll notice the movement, “I’ll be there in just a minute, go back to sleep, okay?” I take a few tentative steps forward, hoping I’m still blocking his line of sight, and he grumbles before snuggling back into his pillow. I wait a moment, just to be sure he won’t sit up again, then rush off to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

 

In minutes, I’m joining him under the covers, and he turns and wraps his arms loosely around me. The warmth is unusual after spending so long outside alone, but I let him draw me in closer and I rest against his chest. We both know we’ll drift apart once we fall asleep - it happens every night - but there’s something serene about falling asleep in each others’ arms. 

 

“Good night,” I whisper against him, though he’s still and I think he’s already drifted off. I close my eyes and breathe in, amazed at how he smells like spring in the middle of winter.

 

“Mm, g‘night,” a stupidly ear-splitting grin hits my face, and I try to bury the bubbly feeling in my chest before it overwhelms me - I would  _ very  _ much like to sleep, so I can be fully awake for Phil’s reaction when he sees the tree tomorrow. And the snowglobe I got him, after I saw how much he loved the snow - though I’m starting to feel it might be a little silly,  _ I mean it’s really kind of a touristy gift, or something you give little kids, or… _

 

\-------------------------------

 

I wake up with a start, not entirely remembering having fallen asleep. But there’s a soft light coming from around the curtains, white and clear, and I  _ hope _ we have a white Christmas because god, Phil would absolutely adore that.  _ Phil. _

 

He’s still asleep, if his breathing is anything to go by; as we always do, we’ve drifted to opposite sides of the bed, but he’s got an arm extended toward me and it’s resting against my own. I smile, trying not to let my excitement get the best of me. In a clumsy move, I manage to slot myself between his arm and his chest; the activity must wake him, because I feel a soft kiss on the top of my head.

 

“Morning,” I can hear the smile in his voice, still sleep-affected, but warm and more awake than it had been last night.  _ Last night _ . I lift my chin, grinning up at him.

 

“Morning, yourself,” he giggles at my response, but I shut him up with a lazy kiss. His arms wrap tighter around me, hands traveling across the bits of exposed skin. Despite the warmth rolling off him, I shiver when his fingertips slip under the hem of my shirt, drawing gentle lines on my side. I mirror his touch, finding the edge of his shirt’s already ridden up from sleep, and I slide my hand across his lower back to pull him closer.

 

He hums against my lips, and I can feel the way they thin from his smile - I let my excitement take the reins, grinning back as we pull apart.

 

“Merry Christmas,” I say it softly, staring into his eyes; when they go wide, and he looks more panicked than excited, my heart drops in my chest. I pull farther back, so our noses are no longer touching, and mirror his concern. “Phil, is something wrong?” My apprehension from the past few days floods in without warning, and I find myself reassessing every recent event for signs of a problem.

 

He’s absolutely silent - though  _ that’s  _ nothing new, the way he turns away and stands, refusing to meet my gaze, certainly  _ is. _

 

“Phil, talk to me, what’s going on?” I prop myself up on an elbow, eyes trained on his back. “Is everything okay?”  _ What a stupid question, when he won’t even look at me... _ I can feel my breathing speed up - I’ve never had to deal with something like this, helping someone, supporting them.  _ That’s not exactly how Death works _ .

 

“I...I’m  _ so sorry _ ,” Phil’s voice is almost inaudible, but his words echo in my ears as if he’d shouted them.  _ Sorry about what? What did he do? Why... _ every worst-case scenario flows into my head: lying, cheating,  _ he hates me, he’s leaving _ . I can’t stop them, but I’m trying -  _ fucking  _ hell _ , I’m trying _ \- to listen, to be patient with him.

 

“Phil,” I can  _ hear _ the fear in my voice, it sounds off and flat, “what happened? What’s going on? Please, you have to  _ tell _ me,” I’m preparing for the worst, letting a deep chill settle under my skin, down into my bones. Into my heart.  _ Oh, that’s where that icy heartlessness went. _ I reach out for it with open arms as I wait for Phil’s response.

 

“I…” he trails off, still refusing to face me. “Dan, I’m so sorry, I think... _ I forgot it’s Christmas _ .” He finally manages to turn, to lift his eyes, and they’re watery blue with unshed tears.

 

And I don’t mean to, I  _ know _ this is meant to be serious, that  _ he _ thinks it’s serious, but I bark out a laugh before covering my mouth. His face has barely changed, though his eyes go wide at the obnoxious sound I made, and I lower my hand to speak.

 

“Phil, I’m sorry, I didn’t...I shouldn’t have laughed, but... _ jesus _ you had me thinking you were about to break it off or something,” I flop back onto the bed, head landing nowhere near my pillow. Then I sit up abruptly. “I mean, you weren’t, right?” Worry squirms in my gut for a moment before he offers a slight shake of his head; I drop back down, staring at the ceiling and blowing out a sigh of relief.  _ Okay, I’m okay, I’m fine. But Phil isn’t. _

 

“Dan, I’m...I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I forgot, and-” Phil’s rambling, like he does when he’s nervous, so I roll - rather unceremoniously - across the bed and grab his arm to tug him back down.

 

“Shut up, you spork,” he still looks immensely upset, so I pull his head into my chest. “I’m not mad, it’s just a day like any other day. And an excellent one, at that, do you know why?” A grin hits my face before I can answer him, before he even asks, because I  _ know _ what I’m about to say: it’s silly and cheesy and I mean every word of it.

 

“Why?” He’s still so quiet, especially now that he’s talking into my shirt and we’re tangled together on the bed.

 

“Because I get to be with  _ you _ , of course.” He huffs out a laugh, lifting his head so we’re eye to eye, and my heart swells at the small smile on his face. “But…” I extend the word, which earns me a confused look. “It  _ is _ Christmas, and I  _ did _ get you some gifts…”

 

\----------------------------------

 

“Phil, can you  _ please _ munch that stuff a little more quietly?” I’ve been trying to sleep since I got back at some ungodly hour of the morning - people do  _ not  _ die on a convenient schedule - but Phil’s been going about his day as usual and I  _ know _ he’s mostly trying to be quiet, but he’s just gotten louder and  _ louder _ . Or maybe I’m just getting more and more annoyed.

 

“You’ve been asleep for ages, you can get up now. It’s practically nighttime again!” I’m about to call him out for hyperbolic exaggeration, but I roll over to face the window; an orangey-golden glow is, in fact, signaling sunset. I groan, shutting my eyes and burying my face in the pillow. Phil’s pillow, which smells so distinctly  _ Phil _ that I find myself smiling despite my frustration.

 

Phil’s been getting up unusually early lately - I blame the weather, now that it’s April: spring is as much his season as winter is mine. I often wake briefly when Phil gets up for the day, and today I was even blessed with several hours of uninterrupted sleep when he left the flat for a bit. When he returned, however, he started doing all kinds of noisy things that left me drifting in and out of unconsciousness but never really getting any rest; his latest activity seems to be eating an early dinner of  _ the loudest fucking cereal on the planet. _

 

“Come  _ on, _ ” Phil whines, and I wonder if he picked up that bad habit from me. “I’ve been waiting for you to be awake all day, I have a  _ surprise _ !” He tries to make the word sound enticing, I assume, but it comes out a little mumbled, and I’m fairly certain he’s talking around another mouthful of cereal.

 

“But  _ Phil, _ ” I whine back, only to feel his warm hand dragging me by the arm toward the edge of the bed. He  _ loves _ this tactic, when I’m trying to sleep in and he wants my attention: either I get up, or he literally just drags me right onto the floor.

 

With an ungrateful grunt, I shake his hand away and sit up: fortunately, the late afternoon lighting is soft, and my eyes adjust quickly. 

 

“Alright, go on then, what’s the big surprise?” I try not to sound  _ too _ irritated - whatever it is, it’s probably something he put a lot of thought into. He grins from where he’s standing over me, then grabs my hand and pulls me from the bed and down into the lounge; we stop, and he waves his arms around in an adorably unnecessary flourish.

 

“Merry Christmas!” Garland and tinsel are strewn absolutely  _ everywhere _ , colored fairy lights line most of the furniture, and there are even two tacky stockings hung from the walls. At the center of the lounge is the tree - the same tree I’d given him back in December - now grown so it nearly touches the ceiling (yesterday, it had reached about up to my chest). From the tree hang even  _ more _ fairy lights and tinsel, and…

 

“Phil, did you bake cookies?” Now that my nose isn’t buried in the bed, in the scent of Phil, I can smell the vanilla scent of sugar cookies drifting from the kitchen. Phil’s not moved from his pose, arms still flung wide at the array of decorations, and I blink a few times before I can manage to think of anything else to say. “It...Phil, it isn’t Christmas…” I try not to sound  _ too  _ concerned - it’s hard for him to tell when he forgets things - but it’s  _ literally  _ the middle of April…

 

“Of course it isn’t, but I forgot about the last one. So it’s  _ my  _ turn to surprise  _ you  _ with Christmas!” He’s so immensely excited by this idea that I find myself grinning, shaking my head. “Come on, I have hot chocolate and cookies and I even got you a gift,” he’s dragging me by the hand again, this time toward the kitchen, but I stop and tug him toward me. As I hoped, he stumbles back, and I pull him into a hug.

 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do all this,” the gesture is so absurdly sweet and so  _ Phil _ that I’m afraid I’m actually getting a little choked up. 

 

“Of course I did! It’s Christmas.” His words at my ear make me chuckle, but I don’t pull away from him until I feel a tap on my shoulder.

 

“Hm?” He’s biting his lip, which either means he’s about to say something he thinks will annoy me or he’s trying  _ very _ hard not to smile. His hand pops up beside us, and he points toward the ceiling.

 

Where a sprig of mistletoe is growing of its own accord. I roll my eyes at Phil, who only shrugs in response; I can’t help smiling when he pulls me in for a kiss, though it ends with us both laughing at the silliness of the whole thing.

 

“Merry Christmas, you spoon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! If you'd like, feel free to give it a cheeky [reblog on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/post/168642259177/merry-christmas-you-spoon-a-life-and-death)


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